


Gone Viral

by UnderTheFridge



Category: Alien: Isolation (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Gen, If You Squint - Freeform, Illness, Robot/Human Relationships, Science Fiction, Sickfic, because canon is a cruel mistress to us all, of a sort, professional heartbreaker and occasional circuit breaker Christopher Samuels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 21:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8462800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheFridge/pseuds/UnderTheFridge
Summary: Written for a tumblr prompt 'illness'; shameless fluff. Because they both escaped Sevastopol and and got an apartment in space together and lived happily ever after, and nobody can tell us otherwise.“The situation is under control,” he informs her. “I simply have the common cold.”“Oh, I’ll get you -.” Amanda realises what he’s said. “Wait. What the hell?”





	1. Chapter 1

“Christopher,” she says, and after six months it still seems foreign. He shoehorned the informality into their lives in about week 2, because  _ we live together now _ . By accident, she’d pointed out: the decision wasn’t theirs in any way. Just like the decision to reassign them together conveniently far from anyone else who remembered Sevastapol or showed any curiosity about the incidents therein. And, coming out of left field at the last moment, the decision  _ not _ to format Samuels and remove all traces of his built-up memories. She often can’t decide which she’s more grateful for.

“Amanda,” and damn it if he doesn’t sound like he’s introducing her to minor royalty, even after six months. It’s not his fault. The soft, measured tone is something that will never disappear, no matter how hard anybody tries – although he can vary it from ‘genuinely polite and helpful’ to ‘psychotically polite and helpful’. “Is something wrong?”

‘There are many things wrong, Christopher,’ she wants to respond, but that will trigger a short lecture on how the human condition cannot withstand constant realisation of all the things wrong with the world, and that – in the nicest possible way – she should take reasonable steps to stop worrying so much.

Instead, she says “Were you coughing?”

He cannot lie to her. More accurately, he  _ can _ tell a distorted version of the truth to protect her from inconvenience and/or harm, but if the harm isn’t great then it’s always  _ really, really obvious _ .

“The situation is under control,” he informs her – then pauses, sniffs and coughs. His attempts to stifle it only make it worse, and she finds herself thumping him on the back. He recovers, eyes streaming a little. “I simply have the common cold.”

“Oh, I’ll get you -.” Amanda realises what he’s said. “Wait. What the hell?”

“Is there a problem?”

“ _ You’re a robot _ .” He flinches a little to hear it stated so baldly – it’s a breach of decorum – but the point is made. “You don’t get sick, you don’t have diseases… you don’t have  _ colds _ . What day is it?” She glances at her calendar, then back at him with a sceptical eyebrow raised. “Christopher. It’s April 1 st .”

“It is,” he admits.

“Really? Ok, you got me. Nice joke.” His face twitches a little, and she takes it as an interpretation of sarcasm. “No, really – it’s funny, I really thought… are you…?”

He makes an odd sound of denial, puts his arm across his face, and  _ sneezes _ .

“Ok, yeah.” She folds her arms. “You can stop now.”

He wipes his nose on his sleeve, though of course there’s no mucus. It’s a learned behaviour.

“That’s my concern, Amanda.” He even  _ sounds _ like someone with a cold, by this point. “I can’t.”

\--

“It’s a virus,” he explains, seated on the couch but refusing to lie down. She automatically moves the tissue box to the coffee table.

“I know what the common cold is….”

“No, a virus. In a software sense.”

“A computer virus. In your brain.”

“Which is  _ essentially _ a computer, yes…” he won’t out-and-out admit  _ I’m made of alloys and data _ – in the same way, she supposes, that humans rarely declare themselves to be purely meat and neurotransmitters. As yet, it’s not clear whether that’s an idiosyncrasy of his or a trait common to all synthetics. “In basic terms – it’s someone else’s April Fools. It could just be me, or….”

Amanda reddens a little, feeling foolish for not checking the station-wide communications yet. She’s already over at the network access point. The station logo is upside-down today and one of the main news releases is about spaghetti trees – but it’s all in good fun.

The second article dispenses with all humour, and bluntly informs her that the individual or group responsible for uploading and distributing the strings of malicious code affecting every single synthetic human on the station will suffer the full penalty assigned by various laws against software tampering and hardware endangerment.

“This doesn’t hurt you, does it?” she asks worriedly, skimming the end of the article.

“Not at all,” Samuels says. “It’s not entirely comfortable – but you must understand, Amanda – these aren’t  _ symptoms. _ The ability to imitate a cough or sneeze is something built in, for situations where I’d have to appear totally human. This virus appears to be triggering it at random intervals, along with a few other associated behaviours.”

“I’d call those symptoms.”

“Well, they’re indications that I’m  _ infected _ – but it’s a syndrome rather than a disease, I’d argue, a collection of characteristics which happen to share the same source, with no true ill-effects…. For instance, I lack mucous membranes, so I’m not suffering the fluid loss associated with increased flow rate. Or the inflammation of upper respiratory tissue – the headache, the ‘stuffed’ feeling – or the activation of lymphatic glands, the soreness in the throat and elsewhere….”

“Alright!” She cuts him off. “I get it. You’ve got an imitation cold, without any of the bullshit humans have to put up with. Good for you. I’m going out.”

“Although I am heavily disinclined to move from here.” He considers, sitting limply on the couch in contrast to his usual posture. “I suppose I might be infectious.”

Amanda feels the urge to rub her forehead. “Infectious? For a computer virus?”

“Well, yes. The artificial humans on this station are connected to a wireless communication network – which is how the virus was disseminated in the first place. If I come into contact with one, and there’s any data transfer, they may receive the harmful code even without being previously exposed – and I’m sure, now it’s common knowledge, some of them have isolated themselves.”

“Infectious,” Amanda repeats. “Jesus Christ. Can’t you – can’t you go in and root it out? Find a cure?”

“Amanda,” he says, the gravity of his tone ruined by a fresh bout of sniffles, “do you really think they allow us to mess around inside our own brains?”

\--

When she returns, he is still in position, staring listlessly at something broadcast on the visual network. The small screen shows a woman in a voluminous jersey tearfully accusing a similarly dressed man of fathering her sister’s two children – further complicated, apparently, by the fact that she and her sister are identical twins.

“You’re watching daytime TV.” Amanda puts her bag down.

“It’s oddly fascinating,” he admits, and sneezes again. It catches him off-guard and he nearly folds double.

“It’ll be easier for you if you lie on the couch,” she tells him, crossing to the kitchen area to prepare a hot drink – for herself. Despite the undeniable urge to make him one as well.

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’ll stop you breaking your nose on your own kneecap,” Amanda declares, putting her mug down and marching over to hoist his feet onto the cushions. He offers no resistance, but lies awkwardly with his ankles propped on the arm of the couch and one arm dangling down, like a doll abandoned by a child. She doesn’t have the strength to drag his torso upright.

When she returns after a short interval (and another thunderous sneeze), he’s righted himself. The argument on the TV has drawn to some sort of conclusion, though it’s unclear which sister has reconciled with the man – or indeed whether both of them are even present. The show finishes and he sighs and sniffs, making no attempt to move. So far, there have been about five or six points where he would usually at least be active, if not assisting her in whatever she’s trying to do. The inertia is somehow disturbing.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She perches nearby and instinctively reaches out a hand to touch his brow. “You’re…” the feedback from her fingers reaches her brain. “Oh.”

“Processor core temperature is within normal parameters,” he says dryly, and coughs.

“But you’re so  _ listless _ .”

“I feel it would be hazardous to attempt any complex task while subject to random muscle contractions and momentary blindness.”

“You close your eyes when you sneeze?”

“Of course. It’s an exact replica of -.”

“Of a human reflex, I get it.”

“Except I’m less used to it than you, in all probability. Is there a human who has never sneezed? Never coughed? I highly doubt it.”

\--

Amanda eventually loses patience entirely, and orders him to revert to pyjamas and lie under a fleece blanket on the couch. She curls into the armchair that they otherwise never use, at the end where his head is, and watches him watch the TV.

“Amanda – this is highly unnecessary. I don’t need external temperature control measures, I can lie on any surface, and my condition is hardly improved by sleepwear.”

“I think you look cute.”

“I mean my physical condition.”

“So do I,” she says, but it’s one of those things he doesn’t quite understand yet. “How long will it take to disappear?”

“I’ll have to wait until a patch is released. For now, I’m disconnected from the communications network – I’d hate to be the one who re-introduces it if they’ve successfully managed to sterilise the system.”

“So, you could be stuck with it for…?”

“As long as it takes the synthetics specialists to come up with a… a ‘cure’.”

“Well,” Amanda says, “I’m not nursing you for more than a couple of days, maximum. So you’d better hope they solve it fast.”


	2. Chapter 2

April 2nd, and he walks in under his own power, smiling and noticeably free of involuntary responses.

“I feel much better – and I owe you thanks, Amanda. Convincing me to have an afternoon nap provided a restart, as it turns out. Which purges the malicious code… Amanda?”

The lump in the bedclothes moves, shudders and convulses in a sudden sneeze. “Go away.”

“Amanda, I can’t leave you if there’s a possibility of harm from….”

“Fine. Now you know how to deal with sick people. Apply your knowledge.”

Samuels thinks about arguing that their experiences will hardly be equivalent, but stops the words before they’re generated by his mouth, and goes into the kitchen instead.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a feeling I know who prompted this - so Nicole, you're welcome. If it wasn't you, then the credit goes to one of my other Amanda/Samuels enablers....


End file.
